Dance with Me
by HopelessRomanticxox
Summary: To Sherlock, Irene Adler is dead. To Irene, Sherlock Holmes is dead. So of course when Watson and Mary invite Sherlock to a ball in Paris, who should also turn up but Miss Adler. Just a bit of a flirty one shot for you :)


**Another one shot for you, they won't leave me alone at the minute! This is just a random idea, another dance with Irene and Sherlock meeting after both hearing of one another's deaths :) Hopefully (no promises though) they are as true to character as possible, I did try but I wanted to add a bit of romance in there also!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I still don't own the rights to Sherlock Holmes the movies or the books so all credit goes to the cast and crew of Guy Ritchies Sherlock Holmes (2009) and Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows (2011) and for character names, and invention a special thanks goes to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859 - 1930)**

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The third lit pipe in the space of twenty minutes, showed that Holmes was getting bored. He had been watching the festivities with no inclination to join in, the same enthusiasm he had earlier when Watson insisted he tag along. Of course, the good doctor had taken to the dance floor around the same time as Sherlock's first pipe, taking his wife for the first of what was to be many dances that evening.

At a loss of something to do Sherlock took to observing his surroundings. It was difficult to deny, the location of the ball was truly magnificent with a domed ceiling stretching to the heavens, intricate patterns sketched all over like something from Versailles. Scarlet ribbons adorned the walls, matching the deep red of the curtains and arching over the dancers, tied neatly to the enormous crystal chandelier sitting in the middle of the ceiling. It cast a beautiful glow over the dance-floor, highlighting all the potential shadowy spots.

The room itself was buzzing with activity. The centre of the room was of course, the dance-floor, where many couples had made their way to waltz their way through whatever the string quartet in the corner had chosen to play. Tables were neatly sat round the edge for those less inclined to move, and impeccably dressed gentlemen and ladies chatted and laughed while kept content with orders of drinks and food. From Sherlock's position he could still see the doorway, where, since they had arrived a non-stop steady stream of people had been walking in and out, keeping the cloakroom assistants in work.

Sherlock next chose to study the invitee's themselves. It was a charity ball from one of John's former patients and he had kindly given three tickets for John to share around. There had been speak of a fourth but Sherlock assumed the ticket had gone unused, he had not seen John with anyone other than Mary all evening and nobody had approached the table. All the guests were definitely important, that much could be told from their dress. The ladies adorned in beautiful dresses of all shapes and sizes, hair in elegant updo's that threatened to spill over. Their necks and ears sparkled with expensive jewellery, glittering under the candlelight from both the chandelier and the walls.

The gentlemen were dressed to the nines in three piece suits, all of them looking ready to attend a wedding at a moment's notice. John Watson hadn't stepped out on the occasions expectations either with his own three piece suit as a present for that Christmas. Mary was wearing a beautiful golden coloured dress that matched her hair perfectly, her blue jewels bringing out her eyes. The pair of them had been looking forward to the evening and had dressed to match their fellow dancers.

Sherlock had gone for the more understated route with a loose fitting shirt and black jacket, but leaving the bow in favour of a tie that sat against his chest in no effort to make it look presentable. Sherlock's attire announced his feelings on his presence at the ball. However he was grateful, that at least his presence appeared to have gone unnoticed.

But not completely.

While Sherlock's eyes had been scoping out the other guests, Irene had used the opportunity to slip in, unseen. She stuck to the outer layers of people, conversing with as few as possible in an attempt to get closer to Sherlock but not too close. The last time the two had seen one another was in London, where they had made dinner plans that never came to light. Thankfully the man who had stopped them was out of the way, potentially for good. The last she had heard of Sherlock Holmes was that he had fallen in Switzerland, taking the professor with him in a final, fatal attempt to end his terror once and for all. The past few months it was safe to say his plan worked and Irene had kept watch over Holmes as he reintroduced himself back into Watson's life and watched as they slowly but surely returned to their previous friendship.

Irene had come dressed to blend in with the crowd perfectly, but to stick out in a way only she could do. Her dress was all black, a layered skirt with numerous underskirts covered her lower half and the laced black corset that probably sat a little lower on the chest than would normally be deemed appropriate, covered her top. Irene's hair was piled into a mess of curls with most now loose and running down her back and shoulders.

Sherlock finished the final drag on his pipe, inhaling the tobacco and readying himself for a fourth. His eyes watched as John and Mary finished the dance they had been enjoying and picked up speed once more when the string quartet played their next piece. As he fumbled in his pocket once more for his light Sherlock's nostrils picked up a rather different scent altogether. A very familiar scent indeed. With nobody to claim it in sight Sherlock's eyes dropped to the chair next to his where, instead of just the plain burgundy cushion, atop sat a white handkerchief with the initials IA embroidered on the corner. This one was clean as opposed to the last he'd scene with three blood drops soaked into the material.

His smoke forgotten Sherlock's head whipped round just in time to see a the achingly familiar woman disappear through the balcony doors. Wasting no time he gathered up the handkerchief and stuffing it into his trouser pocket, disappeared in the same direction.

It was cold outside and after the heat of hundreds of bodies pressed into one room for almost an hour the bitter wind came as a relief. Once he had shut the doors behind him Sherlock had turned to only see emptiness and the skyline of Paris. While it truly was a stunningly beautiful view, it was not the one Sherlock had come to see.

Noticing that the balcony curved round the outer edge of the building Sherlock followed the only path in the hope of finding her. For what seemed like forever he kept walking, round the building until it crossed out into a path, leading through some sort of garden. The path came to an end further ahead and with nobody insight Sherlock entered the gardens.

That was where he found her, waiting by a little pond, not watching him, but rather, watching the view like he had done when he first stepped out. Sherlock crossed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, his mind bouncing over a variety of different greetings.

"You appear to have dropped your handkerchief. This is the third one of yours I've come across now, you really must be more careful." He placed the material over the handrail and turned his attention to Irene. She looked up at him with a smile, a glimpse of the woman he knew.

"I'll remember that in future but it does seem to be a most effective way of getting a message through. How else are you to know when I'm around? And speaking of dropping things I'm sure I heard somewhere that you had dropped yourself, along with the Professor, over the Reichenbach Falls in here you are." Was her quick response.

"If we're going to talk about events such as Reichenbach need I remind you that according to said Professor you had passed on with a rare form of Tuberculosis, though the day you died was the day I saw you, might I say you looking remarkably attractive for one in such a bad form of health."

"You really think Professor Moriarty could poison me and I would fall for it? It was me that told you of his deviousness Sherlock, I was well aware of what actions he could perform."

They looked at one another for a moment, their usual banter coming to a quicker end than was normal. Instead of following with a response Sherlock and Irene's actions were mirrored as they suddenly embraced one another. Irene's hands settled around Sherlock's neck as she pulled herself flush against him, his own arms wrapping around her waist. His right hand moved up to entangle itself in her curls and they stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in one another's body heat.

"Don't ever fall off a building again Sherlock Holmes." Irene whispered against his neck, the feel of her lips against his skin creating a whole buzz of electricity Sherlock rarely experienced.

"As long as you promise to ensure you're not left alone in a room with a killer." Was his immediate reply. Each felt their own smiles in the embrace.

Their embrace was short lived however and Sherlock was the first to pull away. He took the moment to fully admire Irene's return from the 'dead' as she appeared to do so with him.

"I always preferred the pink." He replied, indicating her dress. Irene smirked.

"Well I thought black was more of a symbol of death and fighting. Better than pink anyway."

"You kept the perfume though."

"How else would you know it was me?" She replied flirtatiously.

Before he had a chance to react her hands found his tie and began undoing it, retying it in a more formal manner.

"I always preferred the bow." She followed, pulling the tie a little tightly and moving her hands to attempt at making his shirt look more presentable. Sherlock found it remarkably difficult to keep a relaxed posture as her skin made contact with his. What he had noticed was how her pale arms were now covered with a layer of goose-bumps, an act from the cold.

"You're freezing." He stated, an obvious observation.

"It's fine." She finally pulled her hands away, satisfied that he now at least looked the part of formal gentleman who wanted to be there. In a silent gesture Sherlock took his own jacket off and folded Irene into it.

"What are you doing?" She asked as she held the lapels in one hand, bringing the material closer.

"I thought it was fairly obvious." He ensured she was warm enough before leaning against the railing, turning his back to the pond and facing Irene.

"Now you'll be cold." She stated.

"I've faced colder. Been in Switzerland, and you should take a dip in their waters if you want cold." He replied with a grin. Irene couldn't help but return the smile, sighing as his idiocy.

From within the building a louder tune began playing. The string quartet appeared to have been joined by something of an orchestra and now the music was leading out to the gardens.

"Dance with me?" Irene asked, handing back the jacket and reaching for Sherlock's hand. He didn't initially respond but after a moment Holmes took her hand and led the way back into the building and into the ballroom. The couple made their way to the middle after dropping his jacket onto a chair and they faced one another.

"Miss Adler?" He held out a hand like the other dancers and she took it with a smirk.

As they danced Sherlock could feel John's eyes watching him from where he had been sat earlier and catching a glimpse he could only assume Watson was telling Mary all about Irene Adler. But right now he wasn't interested in what Mr and Mrs Watson had to say on the matter, he couldn't care less for all the opinions and deductions he could be missing out on right now. Because Sherlock Holmes had long ago thought that he would never see Irene Adler again and to now be dancing with her in his arms was something of a miracle. While they hadn't always got on, argued more than talked, it was common knowledge to himself and Watson that he never wanted Irene to be dead and he was disappointed for want of a better word when Moriarty explained of her demise.

"Don't die on me again." Irene's voice snapped him out of his reverie and he looked down at her. It was rare that her voice would sound so sincere and so innocent, her face the picture of honesty rather than the mask of confidence and seduction it usually hid behind.

Instead of gracing her with a response he pressed his lips to a forehead – a silent promise and they continued dancing.

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**Thoughts and opinions would be greatly appreciated so please review :D thank you!**


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